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Unformatted text preview: Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove. For when our souls have learned the heat to bear The cloud will vanish, we shall hear his voice Saying: 'Come out from the grove, my love and care, And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice!' " Thus did my mother say, and kissed me; And thus I say to little English boy: When I from black and he from white cloud free, And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear To lean in joy upon our father's knee; And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, And be like him, and he will then love me....
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- Spring '11